


The Peculiar Poet

by Alice_Writes_Stuff



Series: Stain'd Girls (Derry Girls AU) [4]
Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket, All the Wrong Questions - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Derry Girls AU, Gen, Multi, Poetry Lessons, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:14:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28209654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alice_Writes_Stuff/pseuds/Alice_Writes_Stuff
Summary: A new English teacher sweeps into Prufrock Prep, majorly inspiring Violet and her friends to take risks, both in their poetry and in their lives. Meanwhile, Beatrice, Bertrand, Lemony and Theodora are driven to distraction over a movie plot twist.
Relationships: Basically all variations of The Gang, Beatrice Baudelaire/Bertrand Baudelaire/Lemony Snicket, Duncan Quagmire & Isadora Quagmire, Fiona & Carmelita Spats, Klaus Baudelaire & Violet Baudelaire, Violet Baudelaire & Fiona
Series: Stain'd Girls (Derry Girls AU) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1832224
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	The Peculiar Poet

**Author's Note:**

> OC Notes:
> 
> Brandon Spats: The Bearded Volunteer from the Volunteers Fighting Disease. Developed by ladysaxobeat.

The Peculiar Poet

“...As you all know, at the beginning of term, this school was given temporary custody of a statue depicting the incredibly talented composer, Ludwig von Beethoven,” Vice Principal Nero announced, from where he stood on the stage. The statue in question stood on a small table beside him.

“I don’t see what all the fuss is about,” Carmelita muttered. “It’s just an old dude in a wig.”

“Of course, as I said, we were only supposed to have this statue for a limited time- in fact, we are joined today by Mr. Flammerion, headmaster of Wade Academy, so that the handover ceremony can take place. You’re very welcome, Mr. Flammerion, however, I fear that you may have had a wasted journey. I've thought about it, and I'd much rather just hold on to him, actually. He brightens up my office, he inspires me to be a better violinist, and most importantly, he doesn't answer back. I like the little guy.”

Idly, Violet wondered if that was legal, before deciding that it didn’t matter either way.

“Now, what else was there?” Nero continued. “Ah, yes. Unfortunately, Mr. Remora has decided to leave us, for reasons which are unfathomable to me and which I will not be explaining as a result. The Board of Governors promised me that his replacement would arrive today, but as usual, they were talking out of their-”

Just then, the door to the school hall swung open, to reveal a woman wearing a black leather jacket and a long black skirt. Her hair was black, too, and she wore a dark pink beret, the only splash of colour in her outfit.

“I believe you’ve been expecting me?” she asked, looking around the hall full of students.

“Oh my God,” Isadora muttered, and Violet had to agree.

* * *

Their new teacher’s name was Miss E. Feint, and since walking into their English class, she had done nothing except write her name on the board, put on a jazz record and sit perched on her desk drinking coffee.

“What is it that we should be doing, Miss?” Esmé asked, after about five minutes of this. Miss Feint nodded, and set down her coffee mug.

“ _What should you be doing?”_ she repeated, though not in the exaggerated, mimicking way that the class was used to hearing from their Vice Principal- rather, she seemed like she was just repeating it because she was thinking about it carefully. “Now, there’s a question. It’s the wrong one, though- a better one would be, what is it that you _want_ to do?”

“Get pissed?” Carmelita suggested, prompting giggles from the rest of the class.

“Well, I’d quite like some feedback on the poetry assignment, actually,” Esmé countered, prompting groans from the rest of the class. “It counts towards our final grade, people!”

“This is Class 12A, right?” Miss Feint asked.

“That is correct, Miss,” Esmé replied.

“And you are?”

“Esmé. Esmé Squalor."

“Right then, here we go,” Miss Feint said, after rifling through a stack of papers until she found what was presumably Esmé’s poem. “ _The Flower,_ by Esmé Squalor.”

“You’re not going to read it out loud, are you?” Esmé asked, looking mildly horrified.

“Of course! Poetry should always be read aloud.” She looked down at the paper, and began to read. “ _Some flowers are tall/ Some flowers are small/ Some flowers barely grow at all…”_ She set the paper back down on her desk.

“That’s not the end,” Esmé said.

“Well, it should be,” Miss Feint replied. “Let’s see- here’s a poem about a dog, here’s another one about a dog… This one has no name on it. Why Optometrists Can’t Be Trusted?”

Several students turned to look at Klaus, one of only two kids in their class who had glasses.

“Yeah, I can see why you might want to remain anonymous,” Miss Feint continued. “Dog poem, poem about a tree… Ah, this one’s called Mushrooms. _I think mushrooms are really good/ Especially the ones that grow in the wood.”_

“It’s called a haiku,” Fiona explained.

“Yeah, that’s not what I would call it,” Miss Feint replied. “Dog poem, dog poem, oh, here, someone’s just drawn a picture of a dog. That is not bad, actually,” she said, setting the picture down in a separate pile.

“Thank you very much,” Carmelita said.

“This person, while they do make excellent use of poetic couplets, has written about how much they love their English class, in an embarrassing attempt to suck up to their teacher.” Isadora’s face fell at that. “Dog poem, dog poem, cat poem…”

Violet frowned, and put her hand up. She sensed that most of the poems in the pile were on similar themes to the ones that Miss Feint had looked at so far.

“Yes?” Miss Feint asked.

“I think a lot of people in this class, and I know no-one will mind me saying this, well, they have a very basic grasp of the creative process. Whereas I've been writing for years, so I'm really not afraid to put myself out there, to be bold, to take risks.”

It wasn’t strictly true that she had been writing for years- she’d certainly made several attempts over the years, some of which had lasted for longer than others. But it was true that she didn’t fear taking risks or putting herself out there.

“And you are?” Miss Feint asked.

“That’s my sister, Violet Baudelaire,” Klaus said.

“Right then, Violet Baudelaire,” Miss Feint flipped through a few more sheets until she found Violet’s poem. “Here we go. _The darkness that fell outside as I l_ _ay_ _in my bed/_ _Was_ _nothing to the darkness that live_ _d_ _… in my head.”_

“It’s meant to be about night time, and the troubling thoughts that can plague many of us… in… in the night,” Violet explained.

“Oh, no, I understand the weak analogy,” Miss Feint replied. “This isn’t bold, Violet- it’s someone failing to be bold.”

“Well, I’m sorry if the subtleties of my work were lost on you, Miss Feint.”

“Listen, poetry is truth- and great poetry is raw, and real, and messy and glorious and ugly. It is dragged from the depths of the soul. It helps us understand each other and ourselves. Do you get what I'm saying?”

“Yes,” Violet said. “Yes, I think I do, actually.”

“It's not often in life you're allowed to tear up the page and start over. But I am gonna give you that chance.” With that, she tore a handful of the poems in half. “Impress me.”

* * *

That evening, Lemony, Beatrice and Bertrand had planned to go to the cinema for a date night. They hadn’t decided what they were going to see yet, but they planned to decide when they got there.

“This is lovely, isn’t it, Lemony?” Beatrice asked, as they made their way into the cinema.

“I know- it feels like it’s been ages since we’ve done anything like this. Since Sunny was born, there’s not been many opportunities to just go out, the three of us.”

“Ah,” Bertrand said, glancing awkwardly at the door and then back at his partners.

“What do you mean, _ah?”_ Beatrice asked.

“I… I did not realise this was a _date_ night. There’s been a bit of a misunderstanding here.”

Just before Lemony could ask what the hell he meant by that, the door opened, and Brandon Spats came into the cinema, and walked right over to them.

“Bertrand, what were you thinking?” Beatrice hissed.

“I didn’t realise it was a date night!” Bertrand replied. “I was talking to Brandon earlier, and I was thinking, you know, we don’t know him that well, not like we know Maria, Quentin and Fernald, so I thought, why don’t we all watch a film together, and get to know each other that way?”

“Hey, guys!” Brandon said, before either Beatrice or Lemony could reply. He looked between the three adults, frowning slightly. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

“No, not at all,” Beatrice said, regaining her composure- though the sharp look she sent in Bertrand’s direction suggested this wasn’t done yet.

“I think Mum was planning to come too,” Bertrand said, taking his glasses off and cleaning them, possibly so that he wouldn't have to look at Lemony or Beatrice as he said this.

“Excuse me?” Lemony asked. Just then, Theodora came over, from the ticket booth.

“I’ve got the tickets,” she announced.

“We haven’t even decided what we want to see yet!” Beatrice protested.

“Well, I liked the look of that one with all those young men in the line-up,” Theodora replied, pointing at the poster for The Usual Suspects. “It’s got… what’s his face, the farmer from Glenroe.”

“You mean Gabriel Byrne?” Brandon asked. Theodora nodded. “He has done a fair bit since Glenroe, to be fair.”

“Who are you, then, his agent?” Theodora snapped.

“Mum, I don’t understand why you’re here- I thought you hated the cinema,” Beatrice pointed out.

“Not since I found out it’s the only way I can spend any time with Polly. It’s the one place she doesn’t talk.”

“But… but Polly’s not here, is she, Mum?” Bertrand asked. “Mum?”

Instead of responding, Theodora pointed to someone the others hadn’t noticed- Theodora’s sister Polly, telling a long, boring story to the poor girl selling the popcorn. Both Beatrice and Lemony looked at Bertrand this time.

“You’ve doomed us all!” Beatrice said in a stage whisper, and Lemony had to agree with her.

It did not get much better after that. The six adults ended up in the same row, and while Lemony, Bertrand and Beatrice were sitting together, they had Brandon on one side, and Theodora on the other- and while Brandon was decent company, Theodora was… decidedly not.

“That guy is nothing but a lying bastard!” she shouted at the screen. “Don’t you even think about trusting him!”

“Just to be clear,” Lemony whispered to Bertrand, “does she think that they can actually hear her?” Bertrand shrugged.

Just then, the doors of the theatre burst open, and the lights went on.

“Apologies, folks,” a man with a badge declaring him as the manager said. “The fire alarm just went off, so we’ll need everyone to leave. So, if you’ll all just follow me, that would be much appreciated.”

“This is just great,” Beatrice said, as they all filed out. “How are we going to find out who Keyser Soze is now?”

“This is the last time I let you organise a night out,” Theodora informed Lemony.

“Okay,” Lemony replied, deciding it was best not to point out that none of this had anything to do with him.

* * *

Meanwhile, the teens were having no luck. Surrounded by scraps of paper and failed attempts at poetry, and several chocolate wrappers, from sweets they had taken from the cupboards, they were still no closer to having something they could confidently show Miss Feint.

“God, all this writing-from-the-soul nonsense is a nightmare,” Violet grumbled, scrunching up yet another piece of paper.

“I know,” Fiona agreed. “What’s something that rhymes with fungus?”

“Among us?” Isadora suggested. “Wait, you’re not writing another poem about mushrooms, are you?”

“Of course- you’re meant to write about what you know, aren’t you? And I happen to know a lot about mushrooms!”

“Can we all be quiet, please?” Violet asked.

“What do you think, Klaus?” Carmelita asked, holding up a portrait she’d drawn of him. “You’ve got blue eyes, cause I couldn’t find a green pen.”

“My eyes are brown,” Klaus replied. Carm put down the portrait and sighed.

“Now you tell me!”

“Okay,” Violet said, ignoring them both. “So, I’m trying not to think too much, I’m just sort of letting it flow through me.”

“That’s disgusting, Violet,” Carm replied.

“Here’s what I have so far: _You know we belong together/ You and I forever and ever/ No matter where you are/ You’re my guiding star.”_

“Isn’t that the theme tune for Home and Away?” Fiona asked.

“Is it?” Violet asked, then looked back down at what she’d written, realising that Fiona was correct. “Oh, for God’s sake!”

Then, as if things couldn't get any worse, the front door opened, and Violet and Klaus’s parents came in, along with Granny Theodora.

“Shit!” Violet exclaimed, looking at the mess the table was in.

Their sustenance and snacks hadn’t just come from any cupboard in the house, of course- it had come from the Hanukkah cupboard, in which their mother kept a steady supply of sweets and snacks to last the whole holiday period, and then some. Violet hadn’t thought it would be a big deal- there would be plenty of time to build the supplies back up, and they didn’t really need _that_ much anyway. Her mother did not see it that way, though.

“What is going on in here?” she demanded.

“We can explain everything, Mum,” Violet replied.

“Not the Hanukkah cupboard?!” Mum exclaimed.

“They’ve left no stone unturned, Beatrice!” Granny Theodora added, inspecting the still-open cupboard.

“We needed energy for our poetry!” Violet explained.

“I’ll give you energy for your poetry!” Mum replied.

“We were just gonna take a handful of chocolate money,” Klaus explained. “But then one thing led to another, and…”

“What am I supposed to do? I'll have to start from scratch now! And December's only round the corner.”

“It's eight months away, Bea,” Dad pointed out. Mum just glared at him.

“This suits you, doesn’t it?” Granny Theodora said, turning her attention to Dad. “I’ve seen you eyeing up what’s in that cupboard- you’ve been poking about in there long before the kids did, I’ll bet my life on it.”

“That is simply not true,” Dad replied. “Right, let’s just salvage what we can.”

“There’s only a couple of biscuits left, Lemony- it’s been an absolute free-for-all,” Uncle Bert said, once he’d checked through the empty wrappers and looked in the cupboard.

“Your families will be hearing about this!” Mum informed Isadora, Duncan, Carmelita and Fiona. “Seriously, what’s gotten into you two?” she added, turning to Violet and Klaus. “You know you don’t touch the Hanukkah cupboard!”

“We’re stressed!” Violet protested. “Our new English teacher made us rip up all our poems and re-do them in one night.”

“Who is this blow-in?” Granny Theodora asked.

“Her name’s Miss Feint- she’s a bit of a bitch, but, she has great eyeliner,” Carmelita explained.

“Winged or smudged?” Uncle Bert asked.

“Sort of both.”

“Interesting.”

“She ripped up your poems?” Mum asked.

“She said we weren’t writing from the soul,” Violet explained.

“Well, why in God’s name weren’t you writing from the soul?”

* * *

The next day, they still didn’t have anything. They went to Miss Feint before class to explain the situation, and luckily, she seemed to take it surprisingly well.

“It was difficult, so you’ve just given up? You might fail, so why bother trying?”

“Exactly,” Violet said, glad that she understood.

“I want to show you guys something,” Miss Feint said, and led them out into the corridor, where several photos of former classes of Prufrock Prep were hanging on the wall. “Have you ever stopped to look at these?” she asked. “These faces from the past. They're not so different from you, really. They had dreams like you do. They had ambitions. But now, they're gone. Dead. Dust.”

“That’s our Auntie Kit, third from the left- she’s not dead!” Klaus said, pointing to one of the photos. “She’s only forty-nine, she runs the mobile library in Paltryville!”

“Quiet,” Violet hissed.

“But did they fulfil those dreams, those ambitions?” Miss Feint continued. “One day, children, you too will just be an old photograph in a hallway. You only get one life. Don't be afraid to live it. Find your voice, make your mark.”

That day, instead of having a usual English class, Miss Feint brought them outside, making them take turns in hitting a ball with a cricket bat while shouting the name of something that made them angry.

“Dig deep, something you hate, something you despise! No holding back, come on! Get it out!”

“Injustice!” Violet yelled when it was her turn.

Isadora was next up. “Prejudice!” she shouted.

“Exams!” Carmelita yelled.

“Good, this is good stuff!” Miss Feint said.

“Optometrists!” Klaus cried.

“Being late for school!” Esmé shouted.

“The fact that people make such a big deal out of eye contact, then call you weird for trying to maintain it!” Fiona shouted.

“Bit specific, but okay!” Miss Feint replied.

For the rest of the day, the gang continued to draw inspiration from their new teacher. They read poetry, they picked up their pens and tried to write again- they even all decided to do their eyeliner the same as Miss Feint, including Duncan and Klaus.

They were all a bit surprised when Miss Feint invited them over to her house that night, but they decided to go along with it any way. She seemed trustworthy enough, after all.

“Miss Feint is amazing, isn’t she?” Violet said.

“Definitely- I’ve never met anyone like her!” Isadora added.

“She’s an inspiration, she really is,” Klaus said.

“She really knows how to grab things by the balls!” Carmelita said.

“She’s changed my life- you know, I feel like I’d die for her at this point,” Fiona added. They all agreed with her.

“Yeah!” Isadora said. “I mean, obviously, I totally agree, I would die for her as well- but I’m also conscious of the fact we’ve only known her for, what, two days?”

“What do you mean?” Violet asked.

“Well, she’s a teacher.”

“She’s much more than a teacher!” Fiona pointed out.

“Yeah, no, obviously, I get that. She’s great- it’s just that I have a feeling it might be, you know, frowned upon?”

“God, Isadora, you’re so conditioned!” Violet said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”   
  
“It means you need to loosen the fuck up,” Carmelita informed her.

“I _am_ loose, thank you very much!” Isadora replied.

“Face it, Izzy- you’re a buzzkill,” Carm said.

“I am not a buzzkill!”

Once they got to Miss Feint’s house, though, Isadora seemed determined to prove that she was, indeed, a buzzkill.

“Some wine?” Miss Feint asked, offering each of them a glass.

“Actually, I don’t…” Isadora began. Carmelita rolled her eyes, and Isadora shook her head. “You know what, yeah, I’ll have a glass.” She knocked it back in about five seconds, and set the glass back down. “Hit me again!”

“You don’t have much stuff,” Violet observed, looking around the living room.

“Everything I own can fit into a suitcase,” Miss Feint replied. “I’ve never understood why people weigh themselves down with meaningless crap, you know?”

“Yeah,” Violet replied. “God, I just hate possessions so much.”

“Does that mean I can have your illustrated copy of Pride and Prejudice?” Klaus asked.

“Shut up, Klaus,” Violet replied.

“I don’t like to feel tied down, you know?” Miss Feint said. “Life should be spontaneous… free.”

“Absolutely,” Violet replied.

“This is actually really nice,” Isadora said, drinking another glass of wine.

“It tastes a bit like blood,” Fiona added.

“Life is no brief candle to me. It is a sort of splendid torch, which I have got hold of for the moment, and I want to make it burn as brightly as possible,” Miss Feint said.

“That’s beautiful,” Violet replied.

“Shaw,” Miss Feint said. “It’s my favourite quote. What’s yours?”

“ _Be careful, child, of the doll made of glass/ For if you hold her too tightly, she will break, and you will bleed.”_

“I don’t think I’m familiar with that one,” Miss Feint replied. “Who’s it by?”

“Me,” Violet said. “It’s by me.”

By the time they were ready to go home, Isadora was well and truly drunk. Fiona offered to let her stay at her place for the night, to make sure she wouldn’t get in trouble with her mum, and the gang left Miss Feint’s house.

“I feel all floaty!” Isadora said.

“She’s absolutely fucking flying!” Carmelita said, laughing.

“Well, well, well,” Esmé Squalor said, coming round the corner of the street and stopping in front of the group. “What are you guys up to?”

“Nothing much,” Isadora said. “We’ve just been hanging out at Miss Feint’s house.”

“You were at her _house?_ At _night?”_ Esmé asked. “Well, that’s a bit inappropriate!”

“Your mum is a bit inappropriate,” Isadora replied.

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Your mum doesn’t even make sense!”

“Is she _drunk?”_ Esmé asked the rest of the group.

“Your mum’s drunk!”

“Okay, Izzy, I think we get the idea,” Violet said, leading her away. “Lovely seeing you, Esmé- take care!”

* * *

The next morning, Lemony was still thinking about the movie, trying to work out who Keyser Soze was, and still feeling none the wiser.

“I never spent a wink last night,” he admitted, when he sat down at the breakfast table with Beatrice, Bertrand and Theodora. 

“Me neither,” Beatrice replied.

“Keyser Soze?”

“Well, yes, but I also went to bed with my rollers in- you know that’s always a nightmare.”

“Then why do you do it?” Bertrand asked.

“I don’t have any volume at the root, you know that- what choice do I have?”

“I think I’m leaning towards Pete Postlethwaite now,” Theodora said, bringing their attention back to the movie.

“It’s not Pete Postlethwaite, Mum,” Bertrand replied. “It’s never Pete Poslethwaite.”

“Look, this is driving me up the wall,” Beatrice said. “We’ll have to go back tonight.”

“It’s not in the listings any more,” Bertrand replied. “The cinema's stopped showing it.”

“Great work as usual, Lemony,” Theodora said, shaking her head.

“It’s not my fault!” Lemony protested.

“Yeah, sure, nothing ever is,” Theodora replied.

“What are we meant to do?” Beatrice asked.

“Wait for them to release it on video?” Bertrand suggested.

“I can’t do that, Bertrand! I can’t go on like this, I need to know!”

“Well, that’s us away!” Violet said, as she and Klaus came clattering down the stairs. “Have a great day, everyone!”

“What are you in such a good mood about?” Beatrice asked.

“Just, you know, life!” Violet replied.

“You’re up to something, and I’ll get to the bottom of it! Honestly, Violet, between you and Keyser Soze, my head is spinning!”

“Who’s Keyser Soze?” Violet asked.

“That’s what we’d like to know!”

* * *

When the gang got to English class, they were hyped for another day learning from Miss Feint. Their hopes were dashed, though, when they walked into the classroom and saw Vice Principal Nero wiping Miss Feint’s name off the board.

“Take a seat, please, everyone.”

“Where’s Miss Feint?” Violet asked.

“Gone,” Nero replied. “And she’s not coming back.”

“ _What?”_ Violet asked.

“I knew it,” Isadora muttered. “When I woke up this morning, I had a feeling something terrible was going to happen, and also that essentially, deep down, I’m quite an evil person.”

“It’s called a hangover, Isadora,” Carmelita replied. “You’ll be fine.”

“I will be taking this class for the rest of the term, which makes me want to pull off my own face, but needs must,” Nero explained.

“This was you, wasn’t it?” Violet asked, glaring at Esmé. “What did you do? What did you say?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Esmé replied.

“Yeah, sure you don’t,” Fiona said, shaking her head.

“That’s quite enough, everyone,” Nero cut in, before they could continue their argument.

“You don’t understand, Vice Principal Nero,” Violet said. “Miss Feint… she touched us.”

“Excuse me?” Nero asked, raising both eyebrows.

“She made us think, she made us feel!”

“Oh, thank God,” Nero said. “That would be all I need.”

“You can’t sack her!” Violet protested. “You just can’t!”

“Miss Baudelaire,” Nero said, suddenly sounding serious for once. “You appear to be under the misapprehension that you can address me as though you are my equal. I suggest you rein it in and take a seat.”

That day after school, the gang made their way to Nero’s office. Carmelita, remembering what Nero had said about that Beethoven statue the other day, had concocted a plan to ensure that Miss Feint would be allowed to come back to Prufrock.

“Do you think he’ll be in there?” Duncan asked.

“Nah, it’s Friday- he’ll be at Judo,” Carm replied, opening the door and letting them all into the dingy office.

“He’s a creepy wee guy, isn’t he?” Fiona said, as they adjusted the position of the Beethoven statue on their Vice Principal’s desk.

“I would just like to state once again, for the record, that I think this might be the worst idea we’ve ever had!” Isadora said.

“Look, do you want to help Miss Feint or not?” Carmelita asked.

“Can we not find a way to help her that doesn’t involve abducting a statue of Beethoven?”

“We’re not abducting him,” Carm pointed out. “We’re kidnapping him.”

“Is that different? I don’t think that’s different!”

“Look, we’ll give him back on the condition that Miss Feint is rightfully reinstated, okay?”

“Yes, and I’m sure Vice Principal Nero will be fully on board with that!”

“Of course he will!” Carm said. “Alright, let’s take this photograph!”

“Great,” Violet said. “I’ll write the ransom note.”

“We need a copy of today’s newspaper,” Klaus pointed out. “It’s the done thing, kidnapping-wise.”

“There’s a copy of this week’s assembly notes here,” Fiona said, holding up a piece of paper she’d grabbed from Nero’s desk.

“That should do,” Klaus said, taking the paper and carefully positioning it in front of the statue.

“I’m going to use my left hand,” Violet said, “just in case he recognises my handwriting.”

“Oh, well, this is fool proof!” Isadora exclaimed.

“Do you think I should start, _Dear Vice Principal Nero,_ or _To whom it may concern?”_

“I don’t know about this one,” Klaus said, after they’d taken the picture. “He looks a bit fat in it.”

“Yeah, that’s not flattering,” Carmelita replied. “Maybe if we just tilt him this way a bit…”

“See, I think he needs to come forward a bit,” Klaus countered.

“He was fine where he was, cakesniffer.”

“Look, I’m the one taking the picture, Carmelita, so just leave it.”

They kept adjusting the statue back and forth, until it finally fell off the desk. Its head fell off on impact, and for a moment, the teens just stared at it.

“Okay, so it looks like we’ve gone a bit off course here,” Violet said, setting down her pen.

“Let’s glue him!” Fiona said, pulling a tube of superglue out of her blazer pocket. Nobody questioned why she had superglue in her pocket in the first place, but they were all glad that she did.

“Brilliant!” Carmelita said, taking the tube and setting the statue back on the desk. “We’ll just stick it back on, and we’ll be fine!”

It was not fine. Right at that moment, Nero burst into the room, looking ready to judo flip someone. Quickly, they all crowded in front of the broken statue, while Fiona quickly stuck the head back on.

“What on Earth are you lot still doing here? I thought we had an intruder! I’ll tell you what, though, it’s a good thing there wasn’t- I just nailed some serious moves today.”

“We were just working on our English project, Sir,” Violet explained. Nero eyed the group sceptically.

“Step aside,” he said. Reluctantly, they did. Violet glanced down, and saw that Beethoven’s head had been restored to his body- but it had been glued on upside down. “What in God’s name have you done?”

There was no way things could possibly get any worse. They were all lined up in front of the blackboard, like the characters from that film Violet's parents kept going on about, and now their parents and guardians were coming in. Mrs Quagmire was already here, and she did not look happy.

“How could you have glued his head on upside down, Fiona?” Violet hissed. “He was wearing a wig, for fuck’s sake!”

At that moment, Mum, Uncle Bert, Fiona’s brother Fernald and Carmelita’s cousin Brandon came into the office.

“Alright there, folks?” Mrs Quagmire asked, when she saw the other four adults. “I take it your lot are involved in this beheading too?”

“For the last time, this had nothing to do with us!” Isadora protested.

“Do not speak to me right now, either of you,” Mrs Quagmire replied. “God, I never thought I’d see the day when Quigley gave me the least trouble out of the three of you.”

“Take a seat, everyone,” Nero said, gesturing all the grown-ups to sit down. “Now, the statue was stolen from this room, so I’ve asked Mrs. Bass here to photograph the scene. Either it is replaced, at your expense, or the school will sue.”

“To be honest, and I'm not just saying this, I think he looks better,” Uncle Bert said.

“He looks like his head’s on upside down!” Nero countered. “I’ll also be suspending them for a week.”

“Oh, you can’t be serious!” Mum exclaimed. “We’re gonna be stuck with them for a week? Be reasonable, now, we didn’t behead the guy!” She turned to Violet. “Oh, you’re really in for it now!”

“It was an accident, Mum!” Violet protested.

“Oh, so you accidentally wrote a ransom note, did you?”

“Okay, so, that bit wasn't an accident- but in our defence, we were so upset by what happened to Miss Feint. It was wrong, she shouldn't have been sacked.”

“She wasn't,” Nero replied. Before Violet could ask what he meant by that, Miss Feint came breezing into the office, in the same jacket, skirt and beret that she’d worn when she first entered Prufrock Prep.

“Sorry to interrupt, but if I could just grab the old P45, then I’ll be out of your way.”

“I don’t understand,” Violet said.

“Miss Feint has decided to leave us,” Nero replied.

“I got offered a post back in the City- better wages, holiday pay, great pension, the works. I couldn't say no, really,” Miss Feint explained.

“But what happened to living for the moment?” Violet asked, no less confused. “What happened to _life should be spontaneous?”_

“Yeah, I know, but I'm buying a house and the mortgage rates are absolutely crippling at the minute.”

“But, Miss Feint, you inspired me to do my greatest work!” Violet protested.

“I see,” Miss Feint replied. “Which was…?”

“My poem. My glass doll poem. She's a doll made of glass, she's a glass doll. I read it to you last night.”

“Yeah,” Miss Feint said. “I wasn't really listening, to be honest.” And with that, she accepted her slip of paper from Nero, and left the office. “Carpe diem!” she called as she left.

“Well, I guess we never knew who the real Miss Feint was,” Violet said, as her teacher disappeared.

“Yeah,” Mum agreed. “A bit like Keyser Soze, that one.”

“You mean the guy with the bad leg?” Nero asked.

“What?”

“Keyser Soze, he was the guy with the bad leg. He was talking absolute crap the whole time. He was one of those… what are they called? Unreliable narrators.”

“Oh,” Mum said. “Well, that’s very clever.”

“Yeah, I thought so too.”

Then Mrs Bass took a photo of the line-up. They may never know who the real Miss Feint had been- but all of them knew that they would never forget her, or what she had taught them in the brief time they’d known her.


End file.
